Severed
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series, the tag for 'Tall Tales', 2x15. Implied past Wincest.


**Contains dialogue from the episode 'Tall Tales', it belongs to Eric Kripke and John Shiban.  
**

**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page :)**

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So far, Dean hates this hunt. Hates it maybe more than he's ever hated a hunt before. It's weird and confusing and nothing is adding up like it should be. And, he and Sam have never fought like this before, not since they were both teenagers and Sam was insufferably angsty and unhappy all the damn time, and never shy about letting Dean know it. Every little thing has been turning into an argument the last few days, and as much as he doesn't like it, Dean can't exactly say he's surprised. Sam never did take it well when something he wanted was taken away from him. And this is more than that puppy he wanted to keep or the soccer team he wanted to join, Dean knows that, so he doesn't blame Sam. He feels awful about it; even worse because it isn't just Sam he feels bad for. It's himself too.

Much as it makes him feel slightly sticky inside to admit it, Sam is everything to him. He still _wants_ him, in that way that he can't anymore. He can still taste the echo of Sam on his lips, can still vividly remember what Sam's big hands feel like all over his body. He can still hear the beautiful noises Sam makes when they're together in the dark, still aches to touch Sam and kiss him and get lost in him, even when Sam's being an ass like he is right now. Even though letting the air out of the tires on the Impala was lower than low – and Dean can't remember the last time he was this mad at his brother – he still can't get past things like how his fingers itch to brush the hair out of Sam's eyes, or how cute the little frown on Sam's face is when he's thinking, or how when he reaches for a different book his shirt bunches around the muscles in his arms.

But he can't back down. Breaking things off between them was for the best, Dean knows that. He doesn't like it any more than Sam does, but sometimes being the older brother means having to be the responsible one, even if it sucks out loud. And it _does_ suck out loud, especially since it's resulted in the bulk of his communication with Sam for the last few days being nothing but insults and bickering and petty squabbles. Dean hates it when he and Sam don't get along, and he knows it's mostly his fault, but Sam really didn't have to take it out on his baby. That was crossing the line, and underneath everything else, Dean's really hurt that Sam would stoop that low.

"Did it ever cross your mind that you could be _helping_ me instead of just sitting there staring?" Sam asks without looking up, irritation clear in his voice even though Dean can't really see his face.

"Like you'd let me," Dean says. "I know how much you love nerd-ing it up. Has Little Sam come out to play yet? 'Cause I could give you a half hour alone with all those books, if you wanna, y'know, get freaky."

Sam glares at him. "I honestly can't think of a single situation where that'd be anything even _close_ to funny."

"That's because you're uptight," Dean tells him.

"I can't _believe_ you wrecked my computer," Sam mutters under his breath. "_You_ are the one who's gonna hustle until you make enough money to get it fixed, I hope you're aware of that."

"Maybe while I'm at it I could make a little extra, huh? See if we can't get that stick surgically removed from your ass."

"Seriously? What are you, fifteen?" Sam huffs and shakes his head. "Look, while you're over there being your usual asshole self, _I'm_ trying to figure out what's killing these people. So if you're not gonna help me, just go away."

"So then find something already! What're you waiting for, an engraved invitation?"

"You are unequivocally the biggest jerk I have ever met."

"Ooh," Dean says mockingly. "Big word. Watch out, everybody, Sammy's got his professor cap on."

Sam's eyes narrow and his face twists into the bitchy expression Dean knows all too well. "Indisputably. Undeniably. Incontrovertibly! You want me to keep going? I've got more. Not that you'd understand any of them, ya freakin' redneck."

"Jeez, it was a _joke_. If you're gonna get this pissy over a simple little hunt maybe I shouldn't take you along anymore. Drop you back off in Palo Alto with all the other J-Crew douchebags."

"You really think this is just about the hunt?" Sam snaps. "Tell me you're not really that stupid."

Dean clenches his jaw to keep down the volcano of protests and insults that are threatening to slip free. It would be easy to lash back, but Dean knows that it's partly his fault Sam is so angry, even if he still thinks he did the right thing. So maybe these are the lumps he has to take, at least until Sam forgives him. _If_ Sam forgives him.

"No, I know it isn't just about the hunt. But that's what we're dealing with right now, so c'mon. Let's get back to work."

"Sorry if I can't just turn off my feelings like you can," Sam says sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"I can't do that either," Dean argues. "Look, I'm not – I'm not turning them off, okay? I'm just recognizing that something else is more important than you and me right now. Something is messing with these people, killing them. And it's our job to stop it. You don't have to like me but you do have to work with me. So button it up."

"You're such an asshole," Sam mutters, looking away and running a hand through his hair.

Dean blows an exhausted breath out through his nose. "What d'you want from me?"

"Nothing," Sam says loudly. "I don't want a damn thing. I sure as hell don't want you back, since clearly I never meant anything to you in the first place."

"That isn't true," Dean protests, but he doesn't have the heart or the guts to say much more than that.

Sam fixes him with a long look, full of hurt and disappointment and a hundred other things that make Dean sick to his stomach, and then he turns away, mumbling something Dean doesn't quite catch. He thinks he hears the words "never even" and "love me".

"I never what?" he asks quickly.

Sam turns back with a heavy sigh, regarding Dean with tired eyes. "You never even said you loved me. Even back before I went to school. I said it all the time and you never said it back. And that's fine, I could deal with that when I thought you just couldn't say it. But, god, if you don't even _feel_ it? If you never did? I mean, if all along I was just convenient sex to you? Then we had problems _way_ before the shit with Gordon and the FBI."

Dean's whole world spins off its axis the second the words leave Sam's mouth. It's physically painful, like a punch to his gut. Despite what they do for a living, despite all the horrors they see every day and all the terrible things that have happened to him in their relatively short lives, the worst thing Dean can possibly think of is Sam thinking, even for a second, that Dean doesn't love him. Because of _course_ Dean loves him. Dean loves him with every fiber of his being, he loves him more than life, more than air. He loves him more than anything. More than everything.

"I never knew you needed me to say it. I thought you knew, how I … felt," Dean says, because even still, it's as close as he can bring himself to admitting it. He hates himself for it, but he doesn't know how to be different. It makes him feel horribly exposed and vulnerable to admit it even in his own head. It gives Sam too much power – the power to break Dean if he wanted to. It gives Dean too much to lose.

"I thought I did too," Sam says heavily. "But then all this happened, and now I don't know what to feel anymore."

"All what?" Dean asks, positive he won't like the answer.

"This!" Sam answers loudly, gesturing between them. "You took what I thought was love and threw it back in my face the second things got complicated! You dumped me on what was already one of the worst days of my life! What the hell am I _supposed_ to think I mean to you, if that's how you're gonna treat me?!"

Every word cuts Dean like a knife – even worse because nothing Sam's saying is untrue. But Dean stands by what he did. Sam distracts him, and the last thing he can afford to be right now is distracted. If the sight of Sam's lips takes his mind off the hunt, if thinking about getting back to a room and getting Sam in bed becomes more important than his lifelong mission of keeping Sam safe, Dean knows it isn't worth it. However good they were together, however happy Sam made him, it still isn't worth it if it keeps Dean from doing his job.

"I guess there's no point in trying to convince you again that I did this _for_ you?" Dean asks, and he knows Sam's going to say no before he does.

"Like hell you did," Sam mutters. "Stop bein' such a fucking martyr. And stop being a slave to all that shit Dad fed you until the day he died! Be a grown up, make your own god damn decisions!"

"I am making my own decisions!" Dean shoots back, angry like he always is when Sam brings up Dad. "_I_ choose to look out for you, I don't do it because Dad told me to!"

"Right. And the decision to end the best thing that's ever happened to either of us, was that all you, too? Or was it just another part of your stupid 'protect Sammy at all costs' thing? Y'know what, I almost hope it was! I _hope_ Dad's voice is still screaming in your head and that's why you did this! 'Cause otherwise, you're just a jerk!"

Dean glares. "Anything else you'd like to get off your chest while you're on a roll?"

"Fuck you," Sam spits. He almost never says that, and that makes it hurt even more. "You're a fuckin' lost cause. I don't even feel sorry for you."

"I'm not asking you to!"

"Fine," Sam grinds out. "I don't wanna talk about this anymore, it's such a waste of time."

"So let's get back to the hunt."

"What hunt?" Sam yells in frustration. "This is an episode of the Twilight Zone, man! We got _nothing_, do you get that? I've been working my ass off while you've been sitting there making your cute little comments, trying to find something, _anything_, and I've got squat. I've got _less_ than squat. I can't find anything that sounds even remotely like what we're dealing with here! What would you like me to do?!"

Dean sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "Alright. Then I guess we do what we always do when we hit a dead end." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cell phone. "We call Bobby."

"Bobby, thanks a lot, we really couldn't've – " Sam begins as they tear out of the building, but Bobby interrupts him.

"Save it! Let's just get the hell outta dodge before somebody finds that body!"

They jog down the steps to where the Impala is parked on the road, and Bobby jumps into the backseat, but before Dean can do the same in the front, Sam stops him.

"Look, Dean, I just wanna say that I'm, uh …" Sam hesitates, shooting Dean the sad puppy eyes over the top of the car, and Dean swallows thickly over a lump in his throat. Somehow, Sam is beautiful even when he's sad. Dean loves that and hates it at the same time. And it seems like maybe Sam's apologizing for more than just all the arguing they've been doing, and Dean hates that too, because none of this is Sam's fault.

"Hey, me too," he says softly, trying to convey on his face that he means he's sorry about everything, not just the stuff the Trickster was responsible for. He doesn't really except Sam to forgive him, but for his own selfish reasons he hopes Sam will anyway.

Sam considers him for a moment and almost smiles, but then Bobby hops back out of the car and says, "You guys are breakin' my heart, could we please just leave?"

And Dean thinks that's the best idea he's heard all night.


End file.
